Maraschino Cherries - Bleahhh!
My sweet DH asked me ever-so-nicely a few days ago if I would make him a home-made, white Christmas cake this year. Excuse me? Me??? Make a cake??? I think the man is going barmy!
I am, without a doubt, the world's worst cook. He, on the other hand, is the world's best. Except he doesn't do cakes!
So either I have to divorce the idjit (er, sweetie pie I meant to say) or make a fruit cake for him. Valiant, noble, long-suffering soul that I am, the fruit cake option won - barely!
Yesterday I spent what seemed like an eternity looking up 'White Christmas Cake' recipes on the Internet. That in itself is enough to give a person a serious drinking problem.
Then I had to go and buy the ingredients. When was the last time you wasted half an afternoon scooping hideous, sticky, vile, poisonous red and green slime balls out of a bin?
It was not a fun experience. Until I discovered how to get the store owner to do it for me, that is. It was even more fun watching him pick some of the slimy little escape artists off the floor. By the time I left, the store owner was not a happy man. I was, however, a happy woman!
Next surprise was an angel who appeared unannounced as we clashed our carts into each other while rounding a blind corner in the store.
The angel was disguised as a neighbor who lives down the road from me. We chatted briefly. Then, sobbing uncontrollably, (okay, slight exaggeration here...) I told her what I was about to attempt. She said (without a moment's hesitation or any threats on my behalf) that she would be delighted to come and help me. She even had a wonderful recipe that she would bring along. An angel with a bonus! A+++++!
Now, people who actually know me might dispute this, but the fact of the matter is - I am NOT as stupid as I look! I know a good thing when it comes knocking on my door. Especially a bonus-bearing good thing!
Without so much as a moment's hesitation, I took her up on her offer. (And with a great show of dignity, valiantly resisted the urge to kiss her shoes!) Immediately, my maraschino cherry-hating brain began to conceive a brilliant scheme whereby I could leverage (ie., coerce) her into making the whole darn cake for me.
It was not to be.
She phoned me at home last night and told me that I had to 'do things' with the fruit, ie., cut the maraschino cherries in half before she arrived on Friday.
The thought of touching these revolting, poisonous little slime-balls threw me for a loop. I was ready to reconsider the divorce option.
But reason overcame passion. (Or perhaps it was the other way around...)
Anyway, here's what I did. I put on some rubber gloves, stabbed the little ick-balls with a fondue fork, held them on the cutting board and used the pizza slicer to kill them. Mission accomplished! However, it would have been a lot easier if the recipe had called for crushed ick-balls. I could have just thrown them on the driveway and driven over them with the car.
So Friday is the big 'cake making' day. Holding my breath in hopeful anticipation!
Whoever invented 'maraschino cherries' should be required to eat a whole barrel of them - bare fingered! Actually, one barrel each - red and green. I'd even volunteer to serve them up, one at a time, with my trusty fondue fork!
Basically, in five words or less, what I'm trying to say is, I don't like maraschino cherries!
I am, without a doubt, the world's worst cook. He, on the other hand, is the world's best. Except he doesn't do cakes!
So either I have to divorce the idjit (er, sweetie pie I meant to say) or make a fruit cake for him. Valiant, noble, long-suffering soul that I am, the fruit cake option won - barely!
Yesterday I spent what seemed like an eternity looking up 'White Christmas Cake' recipes on the Internet. That in itself is enough to give a person a serious drinking problem.
Then I had to go and buy the ingredients. When was the last time you wasted half an afternoon scooping hideous, sticky, vile, poisonous red and green slime balls out of a bin?
It was not a fun experience. Until I discovered how to get the store owner to do it for me, that is. It was even more fun watching him pick some of the slimy little escape artists off the floor. By the time I left, the store owner was not a happy man. I was, however, a happy woman!
Next surprise was an angel who appeared unannounced as we clashed our carts into each other while rounding a blind corner in the store.
The angel was disguised as a neighbor who lives down the road from me. We chatted briefly. Then, sobbing uncontrollably, (okay, slight exaggeration here...) I told her what I was about to attempt. She said (without a moment's hesitation or any threats on my behalf) that she would be delighted to come and help me. She even had a wonderful recipe that she would bring along. An angel with a bonus! A+++++!
Now, people who actually know me might dispute this, but the fact of the matter is - I am NOT as stupid as I look! I know a good thing when it comes knocking on my door. Especially a bonus-bearing good thing!
Without so much as a moment's hesitation, I took her up on her offer. (And with a great show of dignity, valiantly resisted the urge to kiss her shoes!) Immediately, my maraschino cherry-hating brain began to conceive a brilliant scheme whereby I could leverage (ie., coerce) her into making the whole darn cake for me.
It was not to be.
She phoned me at home last night and told me that I had to 'do things' with the fruit, ie., cut the maraschino cherries in half before she arrived on Friday.
The thought of touching these revolting, poisonous little slime-balls threw me for a loop. I was ready to reconsider the divorce option.
But reason overcame passion. (Or perhaps it was the other way around...)
Anyway, here's what I did. I put on some rubber gloves, stabbed the little ick-balls with a fondue fork, held them on the cutting board and used the pizza slicer to kill them. Mission accomplished! However, it would have been a lot easier if the recipe had called for crushed ick-balls. I could have just thrown them on the driveway and driven over them with the car.
So Friday is the big 'cake making' day. Holding my breath in hopeful anticipation!
Whoever invented 'maraschino cherries' should be required to eat a whole barrel of them - bare fingered! Actually, one barrel each - red and green. I'd even volunteer to serve them up, one at a time, with my trusty fondue fork!
Basically, in five words or less, what I'm trying to say is, I don't like maraschino cherries!
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When the Roads and Paths end, learn to guide yourself through the wilderness
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Expert content written by an experienced veterinarian and published magazine and newspaper writer.
Feel free to contact me for details.
Just when you think you've got it all figured out, someone changes the rules.
Sal
When the Roads and Paths end, learn to guide yourself through the wilderness
Beyond the Path
Just when you think you've got it all figured out, someone changes the rules.